


Devotion

by MrsHamill



Series: Penitence [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-10
Updated: 2001-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim continues to talk. This story is a sequel to Remorse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's officially a series. Thanks everyone who liked Remorse and wanted me to continue it. These will be very, very short, and should be over after number four or five at the most. Thanks, Fox, for the beta and the titles.

* * *

Yeah, well, I'm kind of surprised I'm here too. But -- but I guess I should. I... I owe it to... to... 

Yeah. To myself. I guess. 

Actually, the dream has -- the dreaming's gotten better. I, uh, only had it once last week. Unfortunately, Blair was home, and I guess I must have made some noise. He woke me up. Said he was worried. Made me some tea. 

Made _me_ some tea. He's the one who died, who gave up everything, and he's making _me_ tea. 

Well, no, actually, he really did die. In -- You familiar with Rainier? That big, ugly fountain out in front of Hargrove Hall? 

Yeah? Well, so'm I. Intimately. Blair drowned there, a few months ago. This bitch who had it in for both of us managed to get to him, not, of course, that I made it _difficult_ for her to do so, and she -- she pushed him in. By the time we got there, he was dead. Drowned. Scared me worse than anything else in my life. He... he wouldn't breathe. I couldn't hear his heart. 

But he was. He was dead. Those stupid paramedics even gave up on him. But... well, I was so afraid of him leaving me... I couldn't give up. Simon tried to pull me away but I kept on. Had to... had to... 

Want to know a funny one? We had the same vision. He saw himself as a wolf, I saw myself as a black jag, and, well, we kind of merged. Jumped into each other, and that's when he started breathing again. Coughed up a few lungfuls of that nasty fountain water and his heart started beating. 

I know it sounds stupid... 

Well, it does. I sure as hell didn't know what to make of it. And when I found out he'd had the same vision, well, whoa. I thought I had been scared before... well, that one took the cake. 

Well Christ! Think about it! He was _dead_. I brought him _back_. Me. And we -- well -- we in the form of animals or something, merged. It was wild. It was -- it was like the first time I parachuted out of a plane. Like getting my commission. It was... it was like the best sex I ever had. 

Uh. 

Anyway... 

No. I don't want to go there. 

Please. 

Anyway. I --I just didn't know what to make of it. It scared the piss right out of me, let me tell you. Scared me almost as bad as the thought of losing him did. 

Of course the thought of losing Sandburg scares me. I've told you what he is to me, I've explained about the senses thing, he helps me, goddammit. He's -- he's like -- like a, oh, hell, I don't know. Like a lifeline. Keeps me sane. Keeps me in one piece. Whole, like. Without his help I'd be in the funny farm. Guaranteed. 

Huh, now that's a real trick, trying to describe him. First time I saw him, I thought he was a total flake. Long haired, hippy-dippy punk. Never thought he'd make it with the big boys, figured he'd get into a fire-fight once and run screaming with his tail between his legs. 

But he fooled me. He's tough, like I've said. Strong. He pushes back, you know? When I get angry or upset, he -- he just pushes back. Doesn't let me push him around. Makes me see things I don't necessarily want to see. And he's so goddamn smart it makes you want to spit. He hung in there, and somehow, he became more than just a friend. He became my best friend. When he asked to move in, just for a week, man, he said, I knew it would be longer. And you know what? I didn't even mind. It... it just felt better to have him around. Even when he was driving me nuts with his tests and trials and his incense and all that shit. 

And I thought these sessions were supposed to be about me? How come I always end up talking about Sandburg? 

Heh; always answer a question with a question. Do they teach that in shrink school? 

I -- I guess... maybe because he's so -- so important in -- I mean, to \-- my life? The way I am? 

That's... that's all I can think of. 

What do I hope to get out of these sessions. Wow, a real question at last. I just wish I could answer it. I have no earthly idea. I -- I thought I was, well... oh shit. 

Sandburg made me come. Asked me to come. 

Who am I fooling. He made me come. 

He said -- he said I needed to talk to someone, since I couldn't, uh, talk to him. No, I can't talk to him about this! Jesus Christ. He's given up everything for me, and I'm gonna ask him why I feel so lousy rotten like shit because of it? Yeah, right. 

Most of the time, yeah, I do. He's going to start at the academy, taking the weapons training, in a couple of weeks. That's... that's not Blair. That's not what he should be doing. He should be teaching -- he's a helluva teacher. Or out in the field. In the jungle, studying some God-forsaken tribe or something, not shooting a gun at bad guys. 

I -- I don't know. I -- I... I haven't asked him. I don't really... I guess I don't really want to know. I'm sure he doesn't want it. He's just doing it for me. And if -- if I asked him and he said, yeah, I'm just doing it for you, well, shit. 

I don't... I don't know. I guess because he feels responsible. Maybe because he feels that's the only thing he can do now. God knows I've taken all his other options away. 

Yes it's my fault! Christ! Who else is to blame for this... this god-awful mess? 

No. No. If there's one thing I learned in the Army, it's that ultimately, there's someone to blame. Some person, some thing... and in this case, it's me. Absolutely. No question. 

Huh. Deserve it. Yeah, I deserve it. The kid treats me like, like a -- oh, I don't know, like a god almost, and I have him whipped. I threw him out of the lof... his home once. That's how that bitch got to him. Made it easy for her to find him. Just something else I've done to him. I treat him like shit and he still... he still... 

Shit. 

No, I'm not leaving. I just need... need to move. Is that all right? 

I don't know why. I don't at all. It's not how *I'd* react, God knows. He's just... he's just one of those good guys. One of the good guys. The best good guy, I guess. And he doesn't deserve... doesn't deserve what I do to him. 

Now, if I knew that, I'd be sitting there earning a hundred-fifty an hour instead of you, wouldn't I? I guess... I don't know. I guess it's just how I am. Blair says I'm Mr. Repression. It's not so much that I repress because I want to, though, it's because I have to. I'd go nuts otherwise. Being a cop, being in the Army, all that. Sometimes it's hard, you have to withdraw, you have to -- to, I don't know, create some distance. Divorce yourself from your feelings, look at things from a calm perspective. You know what I mean. 

And that's why I'm so worried. Blair, I mean, Sandburg, he's going to have trouble distancing himself. He cares, you know? And that's the shortest way to a breakdown for a cop that there is. And I just couldn't handle it if I -- if he lost that too. 

Yeah, I know, you said that the last time too. It's... it's hard for me to talk. About this. Especially with him. I don't know... 

How do _I_ feel about him? I--I thought that was obvious. He's my friend. My best friend. He's the guy that guards my back for me, and that's important to me, you know. He's my partner. My roommate, the guy I let mess up the bathroom. I... uh. I... what else can I say? 

Sure. Sure I love him. He's easy to love. Easy to hate too, I guess -- Mr. Motor-mouth, always putting his foot in it. He can be irritating and lovable in five-second turns, sometimes, it's hilarious. 

What? 

Oh. 

You don't pull any punches, do you. 

Okay. *Okay.* He's my friend. I love him. And I -- I've... 

I've hurt him. 

No. I've destroyed him. And -- and he's still around for me. Still taking care of me, still looking out for me and helping me. Jesus Christ. I don't know what to do. 

I... Look. It's _not_ as easy as that. What am I gonna do, walk up and say, hey, Chief, looking good there, how are the Jags doing, and why don't you sit down for a minute while I abase myself before you and beg for absolution. He'd laugh. He'd call me a shithead and an idiot and tell me to get up and get a grip. Which is what I should do, just *get a grip*. 

Yeah. I know. That's easier said than done. 

Oh, yeah? An assignment? What am I, back in school? 

A list of ten... That's.. But that's... 

Well, yeah, I mean, there's probably a hundred things I should tell Sandburg that I haven't. That I can't. But how is writing them _down_ going to -- 

Yeah, it's easier to write than to talk. Okay. Yeah, I get it. Then what? 

Okay. Okay. Yeah. I can do that. Kind of like being back in church again, saying the rosary as penance. What, does that make you my priest? It's been, Christ, I don't know, probably twenty years since my last confession, padre. 

Yeah. Okay then, yeah, I'll come back next week. And I'll bring the list. 

end 


End file.
